In The Still Of The Night
by Monkeywand
Summary: Hotch and Emily spend a semi-romantic night together with a little help from Jack... Written for NCIS-fan-cecy. One shot. Hotch/Emily.


**Disclaimer**: Y'all know the drill...

**A/N**: This is for the Christmas Fic Gift Exchange Challenge as my gift to NCIS-fan-cecy. Her prompts were _I Met An Angel On Christmas Day_, mistletoe, Santa costume, and a red scarf. I've managed to use all four prompts. And since the pairing was Hotch/Emily, I couldn't help but add a little Jack into the mix. Hope you like it, Andrea! Also, a BIG thanks to tayababy for beta-ing this story, and for coming up with an ending. Thanks in bunches, Em! And thanks to flashpeguin for her help, too!

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In The Still Of The Night

"Come in, come in." Hotch ushers Emily inside, into the warmth of the apartment. She looks around in amazement. The once-stoic apartment is now covered in glittering tinsel and sparkling fairy lights. A medium-sized tree sits in the corner, with a handful of presents already stacked beneath.

"Here." Hotch offers to take her overcoat and scarf, noting with pleasure it is the red cashmere scarf he'd picked out as a gift for her last Christmas. Looping them over the back of a chair, he realizes his son had yet to make an appearance.

"Jack, Emily's here."

"Em'ly!" A small form comes barreling around the corner, stopping with a small 'oof' as he runs into Emily's legs.

"Hey, buddy," she greets the form attached to her legs.

"Guess what? Guess what? I was in a Christmas play for school, an' I got to be Santa. An' at the end I got to give out the class presents. Wanna see the pictures daddy took? Ooh, wanna see the presents I got, too?" Jack babbles on, not letting the older woman respond.

"Jack, slow down, buddy. Go find your photo book. It's on your bookshelf. I'm sure Emily won't mind looking at the photos with you." He glances at her but she answers with a shake of her head.

"Okay." He runs off without a backward glance.

"And no running," he calls after his son, knowing that the warning would be ignored.

"You sure you don't mind?" Hotch asks once the pair are alone.

"Aaron, I'll be fine. Relax. Go finish getting dinner ready. I can keep Jack occupied until bedtime," she informs him, easily slipping out of work mode and into 'Emily-and-Aaron' mode. He lets out a breath, and then turns on his heel, heading back to stir dinner.

"Ready, Em'ly?" Jack asks, running back, photo book in hand.

"Sure."

"Com'on then." He drags her to the couch, indicating she should sit down so that he could sit beside her.

"So, this is me, an' this is Billy. He was the head elf," Jack points out his classmates in the photos. "An' this Amelia. She was Mrs Claus." Emily detects a slight blush on the young Hotchner's face as he says this.

"Do you like this Amelia?" she asks.

"No!" He shakes his head disagreeably. Making a face, he says, "Girls are icky."

"'Icky'?" she repeats.

"Yeah, 'cept you, Em'ly. You are nice and not icky, coz daddy doesn't think you're icky either."

"Doesn't he?" she murmurs thoughtfully.

"Nope. Em'ly?"

"Hmm?" She blinks, dragging her gaze back to the face of Jack Hotchner.

"I'm gonna go play with my toys now."

"Okay, bud." He shuffles off the couch, and pads over to his toy box in the corner. Seeing the young boy now occupied, Emily heads towards the kitchen, to where Hotch is preparing dinner.

"Mmm. Something smells nice," she comments, stepping into the room.

"It's a surprise.A little recipe my mother taught Sean and I when we were younger." She detects a hint of sadness then remembers that Mrs Hotchner passed away not long after Sean had moved to New York to work in a restaurant.

Hoping to distract him, she asks, "Do I get to know this surprise?"

"Yes. When I serve it up to you later," he answers, not falling for her trick. She makes a puppy dog face at him.

"Not even now?"

"Nope." She pouts and he laughs.

"You're so cute when you do that, you know?" She blushes.

Hotch playfully slaps her outstretched hand as she tries to dip a finger into the simmering sauce.

"Ow." She adopts a wounded look, sucking on her finger.

"Hands off," he growls. Flapping a hand at her, he shoos her away from the stove top. "Out, out."

"Okay, okay, I'm going," she laughs. Eyes sparkling, she nicks an olive from the chopping board. She pops it into her mouth as Hotch flicks the dish towel previously hanging on his shoulder at her. Still laughing, she heads out to the lounge area to see Jack, elbow deep in the small chest that also served as a coffee table.

"Whatcha doing, buddy?" she asks, kneeling down to the small boy's level.

"Looking for my book," he mumbles from inside. A small exclamation sounds, and the youngest Hotchner's top half appears, in his hands a large, dog-eared book.

"_The Night Before Christmas_," she reads aloud. "You know this was my favorite story when I was a kid."

"Really?" Jack looks at her, wide-eyed. "It's daddy's too. An' now it's mine."

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

"Yes, please, Em'ly." Jack climbs onto her lap, snuggling deep into her embrace. Emily looks surprised for a moment, but opens the book to begin reading.

"_'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse._"

He leans against the door frame, listening to Emily read his son a story.

"Jack, bedtime," Hotch calls, as his co-worker closes the book. Jack peeks sleepily over Emily's shoulder at his father.

"Okay, daddy," he mumbles sleepily. Yawning, he pads softly to his bedroom, followed closely by Hotch.

"I'll be back," he promises. "You stay put." Within minutes, he is back.

"Thanks for that," he says, indicating to the book on the couch beside Emily. She shrugs.

"No worries."

"Ready for some dinner?"

"Staving," she grins.

"You sure you don't need any help?" she calls from her place at the dining table.

"Nope," Hotch steps back into view, a blue covered casserole dish in his hands. She breaths in deeply as he removes the lid, letting the smell attack her senses.

"Chicken Cacciatore, homemade," he disappears then reappears a moment later. "With a bottle of Pinot Gris," Emily looks up at him in surprise. "I know I'm not much of a white wine drinker but this dish deserves it."

"I'll take your word on it," she smirks. Dishing out the cacciatore, he sets a plate in front of her, along with a glass of wine. Emily takes a small bite then moans in pleasure, her eyes closed. Hotch didn't know it was possible to be turned on from one small sound, but at that moment he knew.

"God, Hotch, that was simply amazing," Emily informs him, leaning back in the chair once she has finished.

"Thanks. I think I may have added a little too much garlic but no can do now."

"No, not too much. Just perfect," she assures him.

"I'm glad then." He smiles at her, his whole face lighting up. Standing, he offers to take her plate.

"Nope. You cooked, I clean. I insist," she adds, seeing the look upon his face.

"All right, all right, but this was supposed to be a night for you."

"And it is. You cooked. Now it's my turn to repay the favor."

"Fine, but I have a counter offer for you. You clean, while I dry. How's that sound?" He looks at her, his face revealing nothing. She pretends to think upon his request, but secretly she is glad.

"Okay then," she agrees after a moment.

Together, then tackle the chore of cleaning the dirty dishes. Hotch suspects Emily may have purposely splashed the bubbles at him whilst he was reaching for the clean dishes, but knows she'd never admit to it. By the time they were done, neither adult was dry and bubble free. Placing the last plate away, he looks over at his colleague as she drains the water away.

"What?" she asks, noticing the peculiar look upon the other man's face. He shakes his head softly and steps towards her. Out of nowhere _I Met An Angel On Christmas Day_ begins to play, oblivious to the couple. Hotch leans forward and gently presses his lips against Emily's.

"Kiss her, daddy. Kiss her," Jack shouts gleefully, taking a step away from the wall he was hiding behind. Both adults whirl to face the small boy standing in the hallway in surprise. Emily blushes as Hotch narrows his eyes at his son.

"Jack Paul Hotchner," he grounds out.

"Look, daddy." Jack points to a spot above the pair. "Mistletoe." Hotch looks up in surprise for the second time that night.

"Who put that there?" he asks, staring first at Emily, then at his son.

"Hey, don't look at me," Emily says, hold up her hands in defense. Jack grins.

"It was Uncle Morgan. He said it was 'posed to be a 'prise."

"When'd he put it up?"

"When you was out shopping an' Auntie Penny was looking after me. She asked me what you was doing for Christmas an' I said Em'ly was coming over. That's when Uncle Morgan came over an' put the mistletoe on the roof," Jack informs them with a nonchalant shrug. "Then he told me what it was for." He grins again. "So you can kiss Em'ly." Emily chuckles, listening to the two boys. "He also said you needed a-, amt-, atomspear."

"I think he means atmosphere," Emily points out with a smirk. Trust Morgan to be at Garcia's every beck and call.

"Yeah," Jack nods. Hotch resists from smacking his head against the wall, instead scrubs a hand across his face. With a sigh, he looks down at his son.

"Okay, I think we've got the point, buddy. Now, back to bed," he says firmly, pointing down the hallway.

"Okay, daddy," Jack suddenly spins, and lunges towards Emily. Giving her a great big smack of a kiss on her cheek, he giggles, then dashes down the hall. "'night, Em'ly." Hotch shakes his head ruefully, and then heads after his mischievous son. Emily grins as the two retreat; it was not often that she would see the childish banter between father and son.

"Where were we?" Hotch asks, coming back into the room. Two fresh cups of coffee sit on the chest-come-table.

"I believe," Emily starts, standing up and walking closer to him. "That you were kissing me."

"Me?" he asks in disbelief. "I believe there was some involvement on your behalf." Emily adopts an innocent look. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Hotch shakes his head at her, hiding a grin.

"Impossible," he mutters, disappearing into the kitchen.

"What was that?" She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"Nothing," he says, innocently. "Tiramisu," he says, brandishing two spoons. She keeps her narrowed gaze upon him for a little longer, but allows herself to be distracted by the sweet dessert.

"Unfortunately though," he starts, handing her a spoon. "This wasn't made by me."

"Oh?"

"Mrs Giovinazzio, the little Italian lady from down the hall, makes the best tiramisu cake. She made a batch when she heard you were coming over. Seems I don't have enough lady friends; well, people in general, coming over." He grins ruefully. "She knew you had to be pretty special if you were coming over. I said you were." Emily blushes, both embarrassed and skeptical that Hotch would think of her as special.

"I know that look."

"What look?"

"That look you made when I said you were special. You are special. Especially to me." He reaches one hand to her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. Tiramisu and coffees abandoned, he kisses her, catching her lips in a passionate embrace. Breaking apart in desperate need of air, their foreheads touch, both breathing heavily.

"You, Emily Prentiss, are special." He kisses her again. "You." Kiss. "Are." Kiss. "Special." A longer kiss this time. She sighs into his mouth as she kisses him back.

"Not as special as you," she murmurs, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He breaks away suddenly, smirking slightly.

"What makes you say that?" he asks, cocking his head slightly. Emily sighs and leans her head on his shoulder.

"Aaron, you have a 5-year-old son who's among the most adjusted kids his age I've ever seen, despite what he's been through. That was all you. He listened to his mother being murdered at only four years old, and now look at him! Despite the fact that he's been corrupted by Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan, he's happy with our relationship; hell, he's even pushing you to kiss me! It takes someone special to raise a child like that."

They sit in silence for a moment; Emily mortified at what she has just said, Aaron trying to take it all in, before her shifts her slightly so that she is straddling his legs.

"Em," he whispers, using one finger to lift her chin up. He notices she is crying a little, and it saddens him. "Hey, don't cry. I'm not angry at you."

"You're not?" she asks, her voice hitching slightly.

"No, sweetheart, you were just saying the truth." He slowly kisses her tears away. "Why would I be angry after being told I'm the best father in the world?"

Emily chuckles. "I didn't say that."

Hotch shrugs. "Sounded like it, not that I'm complaining or anything..." he trails off, waggling his eyebrows at her. She laughed at the action and leaned forward to kiss him again.

Some time later, Aaron and Emily lay on the living room floor, limbs tangled, clothes astray. The room lit only by the soft glow of the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, casting exciting shadows on the walls and ceiling.

"You know, you would make a really great mom," he whispers in her ear, gently placing a kiss on her temple. She sighs.

"Maybe someday. Merry Christmas, Aaron."

"Merry Christmas, Emily."

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Hope y'all like.  
Monkeywand


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